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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745769">Father to son</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Mad Scientists, Necromancy, Zombies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:33:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Predator to prey, and father to son.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Father to son</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been late in the evening, he knew that much. The pinkish hues from the setting sun streaked through the translucent curtains directly onto the doctor's specimen. The jumbled mess of parts sat idly against the kitchen table. He had to make due somehow, right? The hospital would never let him do anything as dangerous as this, he knew that.</p><p>But he ought to give it a try.</p><p>"You're lucky," he mumbles, gracing the subject's hands with his and feeling the stiffness in the joints, "that you're still able to be revived."</p><p>He chuckled softly to himself, allowing the tender moment to drift into obscurity. He'd prepared for this day, he just knew it. "The good doctor" would finally do just that, be good.</p><p>"I remember your face." He picked up the suturing needle, pointing it ever-so-delicately at the subject's closed eyes. "Your eyes were nothing short of doll-like."</p><p>He pried them open with his fingers, glaring absentmindedly at the null eggshell-white that replaced its pupils. With a sigh, he let them go. No use remaining attached to old memories now.</p><p>"But I guess that's exactly what you were used for, R-Robbie..."</p><p>He almost cried hearing himself say that name again. It wasn't right. This mush of parts in front of him wasn't...him. It wasn't the son he knew.</p><p>"I-I'm going mad, aren't I?" He tightened his grip on the needle, feeling it in his cold palms,  "Oh never mind that."</p><p>A small huff and an angry surge overtook him, as he glided his way over to the electronic mass resting, pulsating on the counter-top. There it was, in all it's glory. The machine he'd use to bring his son back to life was filled with its own vitality. It almost seemed to breathe, with the soft fizzles and smoke puffs that emitted out of the sides. The metal innards whirred, and the last speckles of light glistened against the steel exterior. Warmth radiated off of it as if a mother's touch enveloped the small kitchen area.</p><p>"You've been hurt, I know that," Henrik mumbled, wiping his eyes as he navigated his way to the power switch in the back. "But now? Oh, now...now we're in the final phase."</p><p>He flipped the switch.</p><p>He held his breath. One second. Then two, then three. The already prominent grinding elevated into its crescendo. Mechanical clanking beat in a rhythmic tune. Light beamed from the center as if a small star had formed entirely within the small space. The very essence of life was a few feet in front of him. And he laughed.</p><p>This was what insanity felt like. He'd been pushed, prodded. He'd done what the others wouldn't dare. He'd bring someone back to life. An in-home necromancer. The others couldn't do shit compared to this. They were pathetic in his wake; feeble and fragile beings far below him.</p><p>"Wait until they see this; until they see you!"</p><p>And within seconds, it was gone. It all stopped. He was left in total darkness, total silence. The moon had disappeared behind the clouds, and the machine seemed to cave within itself. All power that had been held within his kitchen had been sanctioned into the being on the table.</p><p>The prominent pop of joints moving back into place and bones fusing rang throughout the space. He couldn't see his creation, but he felt it. He could hear the short ragged breaths and the heaving. The alignment of newfound parts and trinkets was out of place, but it all felt so right. He could feel the pain and agony merged into a revived form. He could practically sense the fear. It was as if he'd captured a baby animal and he was a rabid beast.</p><p>Predator to prey and father to son.</p>
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